


Just My Type

by ArtHistory



Series: The Entity's Domain [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Feelings, Flirting, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, Love, M/M, Plotty, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-23 06:28:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30051303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtHistory/pseuds/ArtHistory
Summary: Quentin is Frank's type. Frank is Quentin's type, of course, because they're in love. But a bit of playful teasing brings out some unique truths buried within their relationship, and the raw, powerful energies of realizing your boyfriend can somehow be even sexier than you ever imagined.And what does love mean, in a world like this? What does pleasure, taboo, and what feels good feel like in the Entity's domain?Plot heavy, but with a lot of kinky frosting, I hope readers interested in one, both, or either will enjoy this piece!
Relationships: Frank Morrison/Quentin Smith
Series: The Entity's Domain [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028442
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	1. Pretty Brunettes

**Author's Note:**

> So, your boyfriend is murderer. What's that like? Going to try and explore this relationship and dynamic in this chapter. I hope all who are opening this enjoy!
> 
> Wanted to try something here with broaching the topic of a kink like this in a world where being a chubby chaser is certainly not the weirdest thing going on. This is first chapter is plotty, but still mostly erotica, of course. The challenge I gave myself was - can you do weight gain kink without the weight gain? Is the concept just as powerful as the results? I certainly hope so.
> 
> The plotty elements are more in line with "Soft Suburbanite Fantasy", along with all the kinks involved, and takes place in the same world. I very much hope you enjoy.

Whatever it was, Frank would certainly not describe it as a “nuzzle”. 

It was simply that Frank Morrison, Leader of the Legion, was gliding his arms more tightly around the bare chest of his boyfriend. That his scarred nose was burying itself into the soft, thick nest of curls atop the young man’s head as Frank pulled their pale bodies tighter, Frank’s toned pectorals pressing into his lover’s spine as he nuzzl-  **rubbed** his nose into the man’s scalp, breathing in dark-roast coffee and too many sleepless nights. Frank sighed, brown eyes fluttered closed against the pillowy soft locks, letting his cheek rest there as the radio crooned out some pointless soft song that, if Frank was being honest with himself, was a very, very nice choice by the Monstrous Sky Crab Thing to play.

The Canadian blinked at the figure before him let out a soft, breathy chuckle. Hot air blew from Quentin Smith’s nose as his warm hands settled over Frank’s forearm, pecking the white flesh there with his full, Cupid’s bow lips.

“You really like my hair.” He said, voice teasing, twisting his head so the hair described fell over Frank’s slightly muscular shoulder, Quentin’s blue, sleepy eyes closed, Frank leaning his mouth over to give each a peck.

“I like brunettes.” Frank said, earning another soft blasting of air from Quentin’s nose. Quentin turned, shifting so Frank leaned back further against the arm of the old, but still remarkably soft, sofa of the Mount Ormund Resort. The blanket around their naked forms slipping low across his back, exposing Quentin’s shoulders, his back to the flickering reds and yellows of the fire roaring near them. He looked thoroughly tousled, his Quentin, and exceptionally pleased with himself as the young man moved his legs, moving up so his body was flush with Frank’s. Quentin’s slim, untoned stomach rested casually atop his lover’s abs as he leaned in to kiss, suck at the tattoo marking Frank’s neck.

“Oh? And what else do you like?” He baited, chest letting a pleased rumble against Frank’s own as the Legion’s leader smoothed his fingertips slowly down Quentin’s spine.

“I like guys a little taller than me.” Frank answered, voice low, almost purring, as his lover worshipped the art at the hollow of his throat, “I like a guy who can take my shit and throw it back at me, yank my chain a- ah! Fuck! Quen...” He gasped, teeth biting into his lower lip, back arching as Quentin nipped a sharp little mark where Frank’s neck met his shoulder.

“But most of all,” Frank said, voice rolling into a low growl, his hands sliding low to grab,  **squeeze** the peachy fullness of Quentin’s perfect ass, “I like pretty brunettes with nice butts.” 

Both men smiled as Quentin moved up to kiss Frank’s scarred lips, Frank pushing the both of them up as if Quentin weighed nothing at all, the sleep-deprived young man swinging his legs around Frank’s hips, resting said nice butt atop Frank’s meaty thighs.

“You think I’m pretty?” Quentin repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course.” Frank teased, kissing Quentin square in the center of his forehead, before leaning back, letting his smile fall dramatically, “Are you...are you saying you  **don’t** think I’m pretty?”

Quentin snorted, pushing at Frank’s chest, moving himself to a sitting position on the sofa, leaning against the back of the sofa, tugging the blanket back so it covered the both of their laps, the two of them basking the radiating heat of the fire.

It was rare to just….be. Like this. The two of them. It was hard for Quentin to sneak away from the campfire, and even harder for the entirety of Ormond to just be theirs, given Frank shared it with the rest of his gang. All of them were supportive, of course, but if encountered alone they ranged from Happy to See Quentin (Joey), to Not Happy to See Quentin (Julie), to I Need to Introduce You to Several Crows I’ve Caught and Named (Susie). Beyond that, the Entity had to be in the…”mood” to let them visit one another. It seemed, almost, that the more Quentin worried about his fellow Survivors catching on to him fooling around with, and now, well, certainly falling in love with a Killer, the more likely he was to see Frank.

Given Quentin’s extensive research into Dream Realms and Other Worlds from hours upon hours upon hours of pouring over old books, the Dream Warrior could, at the very least, make an educated guess that the Entity fed off emotion.

Fear.

Adrenaline.

Why else would it keep resurrecting him and his friends after matches they lost? Moreover, why else would it make the matches  **fair** ?

And as wild as his and Frank’s relationship had started - two, naturally scrappy young men of almost the same age, trying to outmaneuver each other, Quentin occasionally being murdered, and one time Frank getting punched in the face so hard he simply toppled over - it was...more settled now. Quentin made Frank laugh, could tease him, match his jabs quickly, easily. Frank was certainly always under the risk of being wrapped around Quentin’s little finger, if he didn’t know how to make the man  **melt** . And now that they were happy, and a little more stable - well, as stable as things could be - it was getting harder to see Frank, at least outside of trials. Was that because he and Frank were...happy? It seemed like little detours from the campfire only opened up when he was worrying about Frank being snatched away from him, like Freddy had done to so many of his friends. Like -

“Quen?” Frank said, watching Quentin’s eyes squeeze tight, his brain clearly whirring through something not-good.

Quentin sighed, all the tension leaving his body. The curly-haired man popped open a bright, blue eye, a smile returning to his face as Frank waggled his brows in Quentin’s direction.

“You never answered my question.”

“What? If I thought you were pretty?”

“Yeah.” Frank said, clearly trying to pull Quentin’s mind back from wherever it had gone.

Quentin laughed. He turned, matching Frank in leaning his arm on the back of the sofa, torso twisted so it faced his Frank, chin propped into his hand. His free hand reached out, squeezing Frank’s cheek and giving it a wiggle.

“You’re the prettiest, Frankie, my edgy, edgy bad boy.” He joked, causing Frank to bat his hand away, looking huffy as Frank moved to his knees, resting his ass on his heels as he positioned himself taller than his boyfriend.

“No, now I wanna know! What’s your type?” Frank asked, clearly seeing Quentin’s dodges as a new game of verbal wrestling. The music on the radio dimmed, as if trying to listen in on a suddenly more interesting conversation.

“I uh...I haven’t really dated before, not much, at least. Besides, I would’ve guessed your type would be blondes.” Quentin said.

“Julie doesn’t count.” Frank countered, “She’s a chick, and I like guys. I know that now.”

“I like guys, I like girls, I fall for people I make a connection to.” Quentin shrugged, looking anywhere else in Ormond but towards his lover.

“Yeah but...brunettes? Redheads?” Frank said, voice like honey as he leaned in closer, a flush beginning to creep up Quentin’s neck.

“Brunettes, I guess, for any gender.” Quentin answered, “With a good sense of humor. Someone I can make laugh. And uh...”

Quentin paused, Frank’s head cocking to the left.

The radio drifted to near silence. 

“...Bigger. I guess.”

“Bigger?” Frank repeated, his toned dripping with pleased curiosity, already taking a mental victory lap for winning this little power-play, “What, like...Joey?” He asked, referring to the more muscular Legion member. The flush present on Quentin’s neck moved higher.

“No uh...like...Bigger.” 

Frank’s head tipped to its opposite side, eyes squinting as he attempted to process the information.

“Bigger than Joey? What like...the British guy? Or-”

Frank beamed.

“Fuuuuck! Are you horny for Myers?!” He asked, causing a groan to bubble from Quentin’s throat as the man buried his reddening face in his hands.

“No I mean like...Jeff. Or Jane.” Quentin admitted, awkwardly scratching the back of his head, awkwardly.

Frank’s mouth gaped, then closed. Jeff? Jane? Images were conjured to his mind of the bearded artist sprinting his way across Ormond, breath coming in hot pants, ass  **bouncing** behind him as he leapt through a window, only inches away from Frank’s blade. Frank also conjured the sudden, powerful weight of the new reporter as she burst from a locker, knocking Frank onto his ass and forcing him to drop his prey as she confronted him head on, Frank only just catching her fuller figure moving with her injured companion as he blinked his way back to reality.

“B-But there’s...you know! There’s nothing  **inherently** erotic about anyone’s body!” Quentin offered, “I need a connection before I even want to  **think** about fooling around, you know?! It’s more the - M-More the process of-”

“Fat.” Frank breathed, grin plastered back on his face, evil in his eyes. 

Quentin hurriedly looked away.

“You like  **fat** dudes?! You wanna watch the Clown polish off a mound of junk food?” Frank teased, teeth so excitedly bared, looking very much a hyena coyly toying with its meal.

“N-No I- Look it’s not- Ugh you are too much!” Quentin flushed, his heart pounding, embarrassed by the entire situation but pleased Frank didn’t take as him finding the man as anything less than attractive! Frank was gorgeous, perfect, he couldn’t even imagine him being any hott-

“Oooo, Quen, baby, I’m sooo full. Gods I’m so heavy.” Frank purred, all teeth and bravado, before his face fell, heat flooding his cheeks, 

“Oh…”

It had been a joke.

Frank’s toned abs swollen into a bloated parody of themselves. Stretched round, both his hands resting against the swell of it, emphasizing the shape, the heft, the  **potential** of what a distinctly overfed belly would look like on one Frank Morrison.

Of more interest to Frank, however, was the throbbing erection tenting the blanket over Quentin’s lap.

Both men were silent.

“F-Frank-”

Lips. Heat. Fingers threading into Quentin’s hair as palms  **smacked** the tight sphere of Frank’s stretched abs, forcing a needy, aroused  **hiss** from through the Legion leader’s gritted teeth.

“God, Quen!” Frank gasped, the taller man grinding his furious cock into Frank’s thigh beneath him, Quentin’s teeth  **sinking** into his neck from some deep, feral arousal.

“Christ, fuck” Frank panted, groaned as Quentin’s hands found his tight, toned stomach again, Quentin gasping, cock tipped with a decadent pearl of precum as Frank slowly, agonizingly rounded, bloated his stomach out once again.

“Quen, fucking - gods! Turn around!” Frank huffed, puffed, scrambling for the nearby bottle of lube from their last session, slicking himself and then hurriedly lubing his fingers. Quentin cried out his name, thrusting himself backwards, Frank barely having to work him open before gliding his cock between Quentin’s perfectly peachy cheeks.

“Fuck me, Quen, you really are a chubby chaser.” Frank grinned, Quentin’s fists gripping at the blanket below them as Frank guided himself in. 

Quentin desperately arched his back, one of Frank’s hands locking to Quentin’s ass, the other stabilizing himself against the back of Quentin’s neck, both men so needily, heatedly thrusting into one another, hearts nearly floating above Quentin’s curly head as he  **melted** beneath his Frankie.

“You like that, huh? Your boyfriend overfed,  **bellied** .” Frank teased, blood and power thundering through his veins. Quentin was hot, eager, but never so  **lustful.** Quentin nodded, cheeks pressed squarely into the sofa, eyes closed in pure bliss

“Frank! Fuck! Yes!” He cried, gasping as Frank’s hand extended to  **smack** a bright, pink mark onto Quentin’s right cheek.

“Tell me then! Say it! What’s your type, Quen?” Frank panted. His cheeks were flushed, heart thundering in his chest. They’d done it before, but never like this, never this rowdy, this fast.

“It’s you, Frank.” Quentin gasped, “God, fuck, Frank! It’s you but fa-”

Quentin’s admission was lost somewhere in the keen that matched the fastest, neediest orgasm of his life.

Frank’s mouth fell open, abs flattening, firming as he used all his strength to hold up his near boneless lover. So undone. So aroused. So damn horny at just the  **thought** of  **him** . Him but...but…

More.

Frank came just a few moments later, Quentin’s own arousal like a lightning bolt through him, pulling out and collapsing just behind his Quen, leaving Frank’s spine flush with the back of the sofa, Quentin pressed against his chest, both of them looking out towards the fire.

“You know…” Frank said, smirk creeping back onto his lips a few minutes later, “If I was fat, you’d be on the floor right now.” He teased, bumping his flat six-pack into Quentin’s spine.

“If you were fat maybe we’d actually fold this thing down into a bed every once in a while.” Quentin replied, heart still thundering, feel spent, a little embarrassed, but mostly still floating on the high of the most powerful orgasm of his life.

Frank was quiet for a moment.

“....This is a sofa-bed?”

“God,” Quentin said laughing, “I love you so much.”

Frank flushed, nuzzling his nose into the back of that rich, dark nest of soft curls. He was quiet for a while, then he relaxed his abs, letting them round, rest in the small of Quentin’s back.


	2. Fun Blondes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank makes an effort to seek out some things in another Killer's domain, and learns he isn't the only one whose been...exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another plotty chapter! Having fun exploring this. If anyone is here purely for plot and Frank's growth, I'm interested in him coming to terms with a lot of what's happening constantly in the Entity's domain, and contrast that to another Legion members reactions.
> 
> For those here for the kink, it's also exploratory! Some fun with funhouse mirrors. I hope it's described with enough raw energy to make the erotic aspect of it understandable and enjoyable to all.
> 
> Please enjoy, comment, and read on!

“I’m just saying, it’s the perfect food.”

“Joey, that’s not what I meant-”

“You got protein, fat, a little bit of carbs. What else do you need?”

Frank slowly, gently lowered his forehead to kiss the smooth hardwood of the Ormond Resort bar, keeping his scream of exhaustion inside him as Joey rustled another small group of peanuts in his right hand, before popping all of them into his mouth, crunching loudly.

“There the best part of bar nuts, beating out almonds by a mile.” Joey added, nudging the bowl on the bar towards his seated companion, leaning where he stood to rest his chin onto his arms and grinning wide as Frank looked to him, the handsome, tattooed leader’s chin and glare sharp enough to grind his initials into the bar.

“I hate you.”

“You’re my best friend too, Frank.”

Frank let out a displeased grumble.

This was not where the conversation was supposed to go. He’d been thinking, really thinking, about his night with Quentin just the evening prior - if you could call it that, given...time as a concept in this hellhole. If it would get Quentin going, Frank was willing to try...whatever this was. Food play? They’d had whipped cream and strawberries once. Took a buttload of offerings, but they’d managed to score it, somehow willing it into existence for a one-time-only appearance in the mini-fridge behind Ormond’s bar.

Anything in the cabin when they’d all been pulled in was there, forever. 

Bottles of liquor would reappear after a little while if they were emptied, or smashed. Bowls of bar nuts would be refilled. Hell, even the chairs would make an appearance after a few hours if they hacked them all up to make the perpetually-burning fire bigger. Other stuff could happen to, rewards, Frank guessed. Like the strawberries for Frank’s “birthday” (again, time), but they wouldn’t come back. You got “rewards” as a Killer for…

Frank squeezed his hands into fists.

Doing the obvious, but also for trading a bunch of offerings, little trinkets the Entity was constantly throwing their way to boost the Legion, and all the Killers, in their matches. But if a bunch were sacrificed at once, you could trade. Like uh….like an arcade.

Both of these were...rough. In different ways.

Frank couldn’t remember the last time he’d killed everyone in a match - at least, killed those little bastards when they weren’t smacking him with pallets and blinding him every fifteen fucking seconds. 

He’d brought it up with Joey, Susie, and they were in the same boat. It was hard to finish the job when sometimes they looked so...pitiful. Crawling across the grass, the snow… It got hard, just sometimes. They were the most human, the four of them, out of all the Killers. Well, at least the most human-ish, seeing as none of them could really ever get hurt or wounded for longer than a couple minutes.

The way Frank was starting to see it, if the Entity didn’t want Survivors to get out every now and then, he shouldn’t have summoned a Magic Floor Door that sent them back to the campfire.

“I’m just saying, it would be...maybe nice to have some more stuff. Some variety. Snack wise, you know?” Frank smoothed, his honey-kissed voice swirling out and around Joey’s head, already in the process of making him that wanting to figure out how to get more food into Ormond was his idea, already-

“HOT! WATER!” 

Both of the young men snapped to attention. Susie bolted upright from her spot on the sofa. All of them looking to the top of the stairs, where a trim, sinewy blonde stood victorious, grinning ear to ear.

“We have HOT WATER everyone!” Julie proudly shouted, once again.

The other Legion members looked to one another.

Then the chaos began.

Susie was up, running. Frank’s bar stool toppled as he sprinted for the staircase, Joey leaping over the bar and then using Frank;s shoulders as leverage to leap over the stair’s bannister, hurrying past a remarkably clean and cozy looking Julie. She’d had a bath before telling any of them, Frank thought. HIs thoughts were confirmed by the blonde winking his way, looking so deeply smug.

No wonder Frank fell for her before he realized he liked dudes.

Frank and Susie groaned as the bathroom door slammed in their faces, the sound of the shower began.

“SUCK IT!” Joey could be heard shouting from behind the door, followed by a laugh.

“Ugh, fine. It’ll be here for the day, you can go next, Frankie.” Susie shrugged, wandering onto Ormond’s balcony, twirling her pink hair in her painted fingers.

Frank took that offer, but was also aware it may change, so he tugged a chair over and sat right outside the door, face determined, causing Julie to snort.

“Look, hot water is rare. And good. And I want to shower.” Frank said, defensively, only causing Julie to laugh more.

“You’re such a cutie, Frankie-angel.” Julie grinned, sliding his thumb and forefinger to Frank’s cheeks, giving one a pinch before being batted away. She tugged up a chair of her own, leaning her still-wet hair onto Frank’s shoulder.

“You know...hot water doesn’t have to be rare.” She said, Frank immediately smelling the honied scent of her words. They really were alike...

“It was just two solid matches in a row.”

“Eight kills, huh?” Frank said, causing Julie to sigh.

“We can’t keep thinking about it like that, Frank! Remember when we first got here? The rush of it. It was all so new…” Julie said, leaning up, looking to the Legion’s leader, “So exciting. We were gods. We could do whatever we wanted, no consequences - you said that.” She added.

“Yeah, but-”

“I’m just sayin, Frankie. Life could be easier if we just...played the game right. Got our focus back. Stopped...playing nice with so many of those ones. You don’t see Anna chatting with those little fuckers like, ever, and-”

“Anna?” Frank asked.

“The Huntress.” Julie sighed, “Suze and I visit her every now and then. You just need to burn one offering per visit, something good, but just one.”

“That’s…” Frank said, Julie rolling her eyes, watching Frank;s brain leave his body as he started some other plot.

“Yeah, it’s that simple, Frankie-angel.” Julie said, moving to stand, leave, before-

“Do you remember when we tried to rob the Clown?”

Julie froze.

It had been a joke. Occasionally, before there were so many Killers roaming around, anyone could go anywhere. So the Legion had gone...everywhere. It’s how they’d met the likes of Anna, Amanda, and later...others…

Turns out the Clown, Kenneth, had a mess of gross junk in his little, weird, clown caravan. They’d wanted to see what it was.

Double turns out the lazy bastard never left the house, and they were all sent running back through the black rift in between a few brick walls that lead to Ormond.

That fat motherfucker  **had** to have some sort of snacks in there, but Julie had been the only one to get inside…

“Did he like...have anything in his caravan? Snacks or anything?”

Had Frank not been a million miles away, he would have noticed that Julie was still frozen, looking tense, hands gripped to fists as she struggled to feign disinterest.

“Yeah, a bunch of stuff like that. Chips and things. I guess. But Frankie, you don’t want to-” Julie suddenly felt warm, toned biceps wrap around her shoulders.

“Jules, you’re a genius.” Frank beamed, before running off downstairs.

Julie stood another moment, listening as Frank grabbed a few bottles of liquor, before running out the door.

This...this might be bad.

Susie immediately popped her head back in.  
“Is Frank gone? I’m taking his spot.”

Father Cambell’s Chapel was not Frank’s favorite spot to have matches in, nor to visit. The tall, endless walls of the church made him...anxious. Like he was being watched. His mask did help give him any sense of….anonymity, though he still kept it pressed close to his face. They knew him with his mask, the other Killers, so he didn’t want risk being seen and...well...thought to be a Survivor. Frank ducked down, moving low across the grass as he heard the distinct, pained cry of the Nurse as she floated about her domain. Well, her’s and-

Her’s and the Clown’s.

The Happy Carnival was...extremely depressing.

Frank had only even seen it while dead sprinting after a rouge survivor, never having enough to appreciate the odd, calliope music, the various tents and stalls. And certainly the-

**“H u f f.”**

Frank jumped nearly a foot in the air, the bottles clacking, ringing beneath his jacket.

“The horse.” Frank said, hand over his chest, breath coming back to him.

Maurice looked different than he did in trials.

His flesh, often seen rotting, was...whole. His third eye was still present, but he looked otherwise...healthy? As healthy as anything could in this place.

Maurice snuffled again, clearly pleased to have a visitor.

Frank had only petted a horse once before. His...6th? 7th foster family had owned one. A beautiful, old white mare that was kept on a very rigid diet. Frank had made it his mission to sneak as many apples as he could to her, finding small moments of peace sitting out in the field, rubbing his small hands over her massive nose as the two of them rested in the grass. He got better at it, finding small things, stuffing them into his pockets. Maybe he had her to thank for it…

“You can pet him. Old Maurice he don’t bite unless I tell him too.” A deep, masculine voice intoned.

Frank jumped again, looking quickly towards the nearby caravan to find the enormous, overfed form of Kenneth Hawk - the Clown.

He leaned onto the banister by the stairs, looking...comfortable. Friendly.

Frank felt his blood turn to ice.

“Go on.” Kenneth insisted, his smile either a winning performance, or, somehow more horrifically, real.

Frank did as he was told, both to his and Maurice’s delight.

“Been a minute.” Kenneth said, still grinning ear to ear, “Was wonderin’ when you’d come back. You try that trick I mentioned with the window? You know you can yank those little fuckers right out of em if you’re fast enough.”

Frank blinked, his hand still resting comfortably on Mauric’s snout.

“What?” He said, turning, pulling his mask up to expose his face.

Kenneth let out a low noise of abject disgust.

“Ugh,” He groaned, his smile vanishing, “You ain’t the fun one.” He added, turning, ready to move back inside.

“The fun one?” Frank called out, taking a step closer, causing Kenneth to freeze, turn back towards him, a spider eyeing something from its web.

“The blonde.” Kenneth said, tipping his head to the side, “She came by a little while away, no idea how long. The days...blur.” 

“Julie was here?” Frank asked, surprise coming through his voice, causing Kenneth’s eyebrows to rise, “She...she talked to you?”

“Killed me, more like.” Kenneth said, giggling to himself, “Must’ve known I’d skin any of you little bastards if I caught you again! Door of my place kicked in, stronger than she looks, that girl of yours. Didn’t even have time to even fuckin stand before she had some box cutter in me.” The Clown was laughing now, wheezing, nearly doubled over as he gripped his distended gut with his hands.

“Had me squealin like a stuck pig, I tell you what!” The older man added, southern drawl dripping off every syllable. Kenneth’s laughs devolved into a coughing fit, before he straightened, fishing a handkerchief out of some pocket on his obscenely small, stretched clothing, dabbing it at his forehead.

“One I healed up a couple minutes later, I couldn’t do nothing but respect her. Offered her whatever she wanted in the cabin, ain’t like it doesn’t pop back into reality. But…” Kenneth said, looking a little dreamy, almost proud, “She didn’t want nothing. She just...wanted to talk. Ask me questions. Surprised she didn’t tell you, she talked about you for a while.” Kenneth said, his eyes drifting back to Frank.

The Legion’s leader balked.  
“Julie…” It was so much to process, Frank’s strategic mind whirring.

“What did...what did she ask you?”

“She asked me what it was like.” Kenneth said, simply. He shrugged, moving his hands to Madame Butterfly, twirling it between his fingers for as much his own pleasure as to show off to the younger man, “Going from town to town. Collecting screams. Collecting souvenirs. She asked me when it started, at least as a fantasy, and then she asked me what it felt like.” Kenneth added, looking curiously towards Frank as the Legion member’s jaw tightened. 

“We all like what we do here, kid, at least a little.” Kenneth said, holding his knife out to catch Frank and Madame Butterfly in his vision, “Some of us just like it more, a lot more.” He said, breath leaving his lungs with a cough, “This can be heaven, you know.” He said, gesturing to the rotting world around them, “If you can click with what we do. And it looks like your little blonde friend is starting to figure that out.” The Clown finished, placing his knife back at his swollen side, giving it a pat.

“Jules- She-” Frank snapped his mouth shut. Julie had never mentioned visiting other killers, not like this at least. Before all this Julie just...she hated Ormond. Wanted it all to just...vanish. Frank had drifted from place to place, building up hate for humanity over years and years. Joey was constantly getting fired, talked town in that stinking, racist town. Susie, man, Susie...Susie was Susie. They’d talked about killing, they’d killed, nothing like...nothing like what this guy did. Julie always was curious about this kind of thing - hell, that’s why she’d clicked so well with Frank. But this...

“I’m not uh...no I...I don’t want to talk about that.” Frank replied, after a moment.

“Well, if you’re not here to try and rob me again,” Kenneth grinned, leaning onto the bannister of the caravan, placing his chubby jawline into his palm, “And don’t wanna swap stories, why are you here?” Kenneth asked, sounding interested, but overly congenial, saccharine in a way that made Frank’s skin crawl.

Frank approached slowly, then quickly place the three bottles he’d snagged onto the caravan’s staircase, backing up as fast as he could. Kenneth tipped his head to the side, pursing his lips, brows raised.

“Look, I ain’t here to play any mind games or talk about what it felt like to kill someone’s grandpa.” Frank said, crossing his arms, refusing to break eye contact with Kenneth, even as Maurice happily pushed his wet nose into Frank’s side.

“I...Ormond doesn’t have anything beside fuckin’ bar stuff. Booze and nuts and shit. I want some nicer stuff for us, some….better snacks. Junk food. So we can...just mellow out together when we’re having a drink. So...here’s booze. Give me snacks.” Frank said, 

“Just a little trade. That’s nothing I need an arm or a leg...or a pinky over.” Kenneth said, hand drifting to his knife, making Frank immediately reach for his own, before seeing the horrible bastard man was simply reminiscing on...something he’d rather not be imagine.

“Alright kid, I’m in. Let me check the stock of what I have, then I’ll decide.” Kenneth said, not even waiting for Frank’s response before turning around, waddling back through the open door he’d just come through.

Frank obliged.

Whatever Julie had been doing in her visits to Kenneth, she’d certainly made him much more agreeable to the rest of the Legion, and Frank wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Maurice, sensing the word ‘horse’ on his mind, reached out its brown snout for another scratch, which Frank obliged with much more enthusiasm.

“Huh,” Kenneth said, running a gloved hand over his second chin, doughy face bunching into his plump fingers as he mused the idea back inside his house. He rumbled around one of the chests in his little home, finding it full to the absolute brim with junk food, the occasional VHS of porn. He certainly had enough fatty, sugary, salty treats to feed a damn army, and it wasn’t like they didn’t find their way back into existence after a day or so...Shoot, who was he to turn down some nice booze?

“Alright kid, you got yourself a deal.” Kenneth said, lumbering his way back out of his caravan and to the bottles of booze perched by his staircase. He squatted love, gut rounding between his thick, meaty thighs as he plucked up the whiskey and the gin, leaving the bottle of vodka.

“I’ll grab you some stuff, stay here-” Kenneth frowned, watching as Maurice snuffled with delight towards Frank, “No, go uh...wait around the corner, stop bothering Maurice.”

Frank frowned, but put his hands up, moving away from the pleased looking pony to stand by the long side of the Clown’s mobile home. He let his hands rest behind his head, tucking his mask into his back pocket as he roamed, before stopping, finding himself in front of two mirrors.

The Canadian smirked at himself, looking at the pitiful remains of some sort of funhouse mirror collection with a chuckle. It was sad to see, almost impossible to figure out how Kenneth had lured so many to their doom with something as stupid as a -

“Oh”

Frank swallowed hard, staring at the warped reality before him. It was his face, his clothes, his body, but…

Big.

Frank’s handsome jaw was rounded, the cutting line of it blurred into nonexistence atop a thick, softened neck. His firm pecs doubled, perched above a frankly rotund looking torso, a nearly mountainous, circular mass of once tight, cut lines. Frank’s pupils blew to dinner plates, staring at the image before him in shock, awe. He swallowed, forced a laugh out.

“Stupid thing.” He added, breathily, turning to the left to admire himself in a more normal-looking mirror. He flexed his sinewy biceps, grinning at the little bumps that raised the tight fabric of his jacket. Normal. Fit. Trim. This was...this whole trip was just...a joke. 

Yeah, just a joke.

Frank’s eyes darted back to the funhouse mirror.

His tongue darted from his mouth, fist clenching as he turned around.

“Oh damn,” Frank huffed, half-chuckled, “Wonder how Quen would like this.”

Frank’s ass was frankly gigantic. Widened to two, luscious hills of peachy cream beneath his tight pants. He glided his hands beneath the cheeks, forcing out another laugh as he waved himself towards the mirror, his overlarge form returning the gesture in kind.

He looked huge. Felt huge.

Frank turned to the side, admiring his own reflection with a flushed, lopsided grin.

“What the fuck am I doing?” He chuckled, hearing his heart begin to pound in his ears. The warped, funhouse mirror showed off his toned, tight, lithe for so long as his stood at its leftmost edge, but if he leaned even slightly forward-

“Fuck.” Frank puffed. HIs Adam’s apple bobbed, mouth dry. His straight, white teeth slid onto the pink flesh of his lower lip, sinking in as he watched his flat middle round, bulge, in the twisted glass before him into a parody on its former self. His sweatshirt, jacket, stretched to their limit around a comically overfed belly. 

“C...Can’t believe  **this** is Quen’s thing.” Frank mumbled to himself, his eyes locked onto the mountainous gut so suddenly sprouted from his fit physique. His bandaged hands roamed over it, body knowing they were just rubbing and down his toned six-pack, but his brain physically seeing those hands, his hands, running so smoothly over a decadent mound of thick, biteable  **fat** .

Frank’s mouth was open now, panting, heart thundering over the uncomfortably cheery sounds from the carnival’s music box, the slowly, mechanical creaking of the fortune teller. It was nothing but him. His breath. His heart. And...and…

Frank tugged up his shirt, pupils like dinner plates as he saw a  **belly** round forward into the open air. The warped, bloated image of his stretched abs, pumped and  **swollen** into a version of himself. The chilled air of the Clown’s and the Nurse’s shared domain pricked at his skin, the sensation sending more blood flooding southward as his left hand moved to steady his shirt just above his chest, head tossing back with a needy gasp. The nimble digits of Frank’s right hand slid down his torso, pinching what flesh they could between his fingers, the mirror warping the tiny peck of flesh into a full, biteable lower lip of fresh vanilla pudding. What would it take for him to get that perfect stripe of warm frosting? How many bites would he have to eat? How much junk food would Quentin have to feed him? Quen’s perfect little fingers shakily bringing bite after bite to his lips, so goddamn horny for his Frankie he couldn’t stop himself from jittering. Frank leaning back, shirt off, pants unbuttoned, feeling bloated and cocky like an overfed king, all bravado leaving him, whining out his boyfriend’s name as Quentin’s hands ran over his stretched, round,  **overfed** **_gut_ ** . Breath catching in his throat as he realized he was too full to suck in a complete lungful of air air. Quentin’s body writhing, unable to hold back any longer as threw himself onto Frank’s cock, clever mouth working, bobbing, bouncing from the nest of tight curls to Frank’s aching head so long as he kept chewing, kept eating, kept forcing more, more, more food into his greedy, hungry mou-

“Jacking off to yourself in the mirror? I’ve been there.”

Frank jolted back from the sound of the voice, topling backwards onto his firm little ass, face so red Kenneth wondered if there was any blood left in his body.

“I-I wasn’t-”

“Hey, nothing to explain here, kid.” Kenneth said, holding his hands up innocently, though the smile across his face cracked with amusement, I mean, back in my strongman days, you leave me alone with a mirror long enough and I-”

“Okay! Alright, shithead, just- Gimme my fucking snacks and I’ll get the fuck out of here.” Frank said, pushing himself onto his knees and rising, dusting the dirt off his jeans and moving towards where the Clown was leaning over the railing of his caravan, dangling two, overlarge bags packed to bursting with a variety of greasy chips, sweet chocolate, and other, carb-heavy treats whose prowess made themselves known on his bulging, excessive gut.

Just as Frank reached out to grab the sides of the bags, the mass was pulled back, the Clown’s face leaning down with a remarkably self-satisfied grin.

“My?” Kenneth parroted, the look of shock, nervousness, and then quick recovery by the Legion’s leader caused Kenneth to throw back his head in a deep, wheezing laugh, “What happened to keeping Ormond stocked for your little friends?” He prodded, twisted mind turning itself in knots, trying to figure out what secret the young man was hurriedly burying under miles of well-trained confidence.

“I...nothing. Just misspoke. Hand em over, you got your booze.” Frank said, hands out, facade and confidence recovered from his fall.

Kenneth could only raise an eyebrow in response. Something more, maybe he could pry it out the little blonde whenever she visited again, but…

Kenneth shrugged, dropping both bags into Frank’s hands.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya.” Kenneth winked, Frank wrinkling his nose in disgust as he unscrewed one of the bottle of vodka and knocked it back, drinking down two long, slow gulps before popping the neck of the bottle from his lips with a satisfied sigh.

Frank didn’t respond, simply gripping the massive bags of snacks tighter and moving for the spot of darkness he’d emerged from, somehow knowing it would take him back to Ormond.

Kenneth cackled, stumbling down the steps of his caravan, finding Maurice’s head and giving it a long scratch as he waved to the now-fleeing Frank.

“Don’t be a stranger!” He shouted, letting the long, rough depth of his Southern drawl loose, “Y’all come back now, y’here?” 

Kenneth shook his head as the thin figure vanished into smoke, moving into the darkness perched between a small mass of brick walls. He worked his way to where Frank had been standing, admiring his reflection in the normal mirror to his right, flexing his biceps, before turning to where Frank had been standing, finding his enormous gut staring back at him, stretched and bloated into obscenity.

He smiled.

“Well, well, maybe that boy is more interesting than I thought…”


End file.
